


The Girl Who Would Be Slayer

by flipflop_diva



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Buffy The Vampire Slayer Fusion, BAMF Natasha, F/F, Orphanage, Pre-Relationship, Vampires, Watcher Maria
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 08:14:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7259554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/pseuds/flipflop_diva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha had stopped walking through the cemetery on her way home from school days ago, but something about it called to her this night, even though it was already dark and the only light came from the full moon above.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Girl Who Would Be Slayer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Haywire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haywire/gifts).



> I've always wanted to write a fic with Natasha as the Slayer. Thank you, Haywire, for letting that finally happen! I hope you enjoy!

Natasha thought it was fitting that you had to pass by the old, rundown cemetery on the way to the orphanage at the edge of town. It, too, was old and rundown, with floorboards that creaked and windows that were covered with wood instead of glass because no one cared enough to fix them properly.

Natasha figured that was true with everything about the orphanage — including the kids who lived there. She was the oldest of them all, at sixteen, but none of them were children who were going to find families anytime soon, or ever. Problem children. Disobedient children. Unlovable children.

Natasha had only been at the Sunnydale orphanage for two weeks, but she was already counting the days — five hundred and seventy-six — until she turned eighteen and could live on her own. She didn’t know how she would, but she was a survivor. She’d figure it out.

The first few days after she’d arrived in Sunnydale, Natasha had walked home from school through the cemetery, looking at the cracked and overgrown plots with the broken tombstones that were now barely readable. She’d imagined the people who lay underneath the earth now as they once must have been — fathers, mothers, children.

But starting on the third day, Natasha’s imagination had started to get the best of her. She’d never had any issues like that before — she had long ago learned not to dream or pretend — but there wasn’t any other explanation.

Chills had run up her spine and she had almost heard the whispers in the still air and felt the fingers of the dead touching her arms. She’d also had the strangest feeling that someone was watching her. It unnerved her, so she took to walking home on the sidewalk.

Until today. It was late, already dark, with only the full moon for light, but something inside the cemetery seemed to call for her, summon her almost, and she found herself walking once more through the overgrown grass that now hid what once were paths.

Halfway through the cemetery, she heard the noise. The sound of hands clawing at dirt and feet kicking at something.

She turned around, brows furrowed, trying to see if someone had followed her, but there was nothing there. No one on the path, no one amongst the plots, no one …

She took a step toward the nearest plot, blinking. She could have sworn she saw the dirt in front of the stone move, but that was impossible. That didn’t make any sense. That would be …

She screamed as the plot of dirt in front of her seemed to explode, debris flying into the air all around her. A ghostly white hand reached out of the middle to grab her arm. Its fingers felt clammy. Felt dead.

Natasha spun around, aiming a kick right into the center of the thing’s body. She had never been trained in martial arts or karate, but it was like everything she had ever watched on TV suddenly flew into her brain and she could just _do_ it. She kicked, flipped, darted out of its grip as it lunged for her, clawing, its fangs — actual _fangs_ — gleaming in the night.

Finally, she spotted a dead branch lying on the ground, and it was like she knew what to do. She grabbed it, twisted it in her hand so the pointy edge was facing toward the monster, and then she stabbed, shoving the branch directly into the things heart.

It exploded into a cloud of dust around her. Natasha sank to the ground, her heart beating in her throat, feeling both like she should cry and laugh and maybe scream.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

Natasha almost leaped out of her skin. She sprang to her feet, whirling, the pointy stick once again clutched in her fist.

A woman, not that much older than she, was standing there, hands in her pockets, an almost pleased expression on her face. She was slender, with medium-length brown hair, and she was dressed in a suit — an odd choice for a stroll through a cemetery, Natasha thought.

“I thought you might show up tonight,” the woman continued, as if she knew Natasha, but Natasha was sure she had never seen her before. 

She frowned. “Who are you?”

“Maria Hill.” She said this as if it should be obvious. 

Natasha glanced around her, trying to decide if she should make a run for it, but curiosity won out. “Should I know you?”

The woman — Maria — smiled. “You should,” she said. “I’m your Watcher.”

Natasha blinked. “Is that like a social worker or something?”

“No, Natasha.” Maria shook her head as Natasha’s eyes widened. This woman knew her name.

“Come on.” Maria gestured to the sidewalk outside the cemetery. “There’s a coffee shop down the street. Let’s go get something to drink.”

Natasha’s eyes dropped to her clothes, now covered in mud, and then to the silhouette of the orphanage just a couple hundred yards now to the north. She wasn’t the type of girl to just walk off with random strangers, but there was something about this woman …

“I won’t hurt you,” Maria said. “Though I think you can probably handle yourself, judging by what you just did.”

Natasha let her lips slide into a smile at that, and she found herself nodding. “Coffee,” she said. “Okay. But quick. The orphanage gets upset if I’m not back.”

“No, they don’t,” Maria said, and Natasha frowned. They didn’t, but how did she know that? But Maria was already walking past her, presumably leading the way to her car. Natasha turned to follow. 

“You’re a very special girl, Natasha,” Maria told her as she walked, Natasha hurrying along behind her. “There’s only one of you in every generation.”

Natasha doubted this. There was nothing about her that was special. That was one thing she had always known, but something about this woman made her seem so confident, so sure of her words. It made Natasha want to know more.

“Can I ask you one thing?” Natasha asked, as Maria unlocked the door to a small silver car and gestured for her to slide in.

“You may ask whatever you like.”

“What _was_ that thing back there? That I killed.” It felt weird to even say it.

“A vampire, sweetheart.”

Natasha stopped moving, only halfway into the car. “You’re messing with me.”

“No, I’m not. You’re the new slayer.” Maria smiled at Natasha’s bewildered expression. “Get in the car, Natasha. We have a lot to talk about.”


End file.
